Less Than a Week
by magentabear
Summary: A bittersweet oneshot containing HBP spoilers. With less than a week before the Trio sets of to find the Horcruxes, Hermione contemplates her muggle roots.


Disclaimer: I don't own JKR's work. I am in no way connected to Harry Potter. No profit is being made on this.

Author's Note: If you have not read/finished Half-Blood Prince, I want you to back away from the computer, find the book, and read it. Then come back and read this fic. Then (goodness, I'm being bossy today) I want you to leave review. Thank you.

This is in Hermione's point of view.

**Less Than a Week**

We're leaving in less than a weak to destroy the Horcruxes, and all I can think about it Jeremy McKeane. He was my first crush.

I was nine years old when the McKeane family moved in next store. They were from America and had funny accents. Jeremy was, in my worldly opinion, perfect. He was smart like me, he had bushy brown hair like me, and his teeth were clean like me.

I may or may not have been a very confident child.

Our parents talked. Mom and Dad talked about teeth, and Mr. and Mrs. McKeane reminisced about Harvard. That's where they met, you see. One night, Jeremy and I decided we would go to Harvard together when we were old enough.

When I told my parents that I would be attending Harvard with Jeremy, Dad laughed and told me to keep my grades up. Mum told me she would never let me go that far, would never let me abandon the family like that. Poor Mum, she didn't get her wish. I miss my parents sometimes, when I'm at school, or on holiday with Ron and Harry.

The McKeane's moved away shortly after I got the letter from Hogwarts. I think I would have liked going to Harvard with Jeremy. Or Oxford, or Cambridge, or any university, really.

I'm not complaining. I love Hogwarts, and I love the friends I've made there. If I learned one thing when I fooled around with the time-turners, it's that regrets don't work. Changing the past is scary, scary business.

I'm leaving in less than a week on an attempt to destroy Evil Incarnate, with the help of two teenage boys. Who the hell thought of this plan? We're children, for God's sake. Wait, strike that, I am a witch—we're children, for _Merlin's_ sake.

Malfoy's right. (I'm shivering right now because hell has frozen over.) There's a difference between Mudbloods and Purebloods. I have a past without magic. I can't help it. Sometimes I think about taking exams with a pencil, or going to the movies on dates. I want a driver's license, for God's sakes. For Merlin's sake, I mean.

Jeremy was such a cute boy. Nothing on Ron, of course, but Jeremy had his charms. Among them was the ability to actually _say_ the name of his enemy without flinching. Granted, Jeremy's enemy was Mrs. Cole, the loony substitute, and Ron's enemy is Lord Voldemort, the most powerful and screwed-up wizard in recent history, so it's hardly a fair comparison.

Honesty, though, Ron needs to get a grip. It's not a hard word to say. Voldemort. It's even easier to hear.

I hate him. I bloody hate him.

Voldemort, I mean. Not Ron.

Poor Ron. Fleur didn't have enough bridesmaids (guess her veela charms don't attract many girl friends) so Ron isn't a groomsman. I don't think his family realizes how left-out they make him feel sometimes. They tried to make up for it, naturally, by giving him some sort of role during the ceremony (I don't understand it, something that we muggles don't do) but I think he still feels it. But at least now he can sit by me during the ceremony.

I do hope I don't cry. He took it well when I sobbed on his shoulder during Dumbledore's funeral, but I think a wedding would be different. I didn't cry at the last wedding I went to, though, so I think I'll be okay.

Horcrux. It's such a silly word, really. The fuss over it is giving me a headache.

I think I had a shot at getting into Oxford. I work hard, and earn top marks.

Who are we kidding here? I'm an insufferable know-it-all, and places like Oxford are made for insufferable know-it-alls. I would thrive at a university. I want that diploma; I want muggles to know I'm smart. A degree from Hogwarts means absolutely nothing in that world.

I'm not really part of that world anymore, am I? In less than a week I'm going to start searching for bits of a soul, in the hopes of destroying said soul. Not your average muggle activity.

I don't think I'm going to be returning to Hogwarts, even if it is there to return to. I'll never abandon Harry and Ron. I'm leaving in less than week with them, on a journey that could kill us all.

My parents could never understand that. I think I lost them after I became a prefect. That was the last bit of my life they could possibly understand. I never told them about Voldemort—didn't want to scare them—and now I can't tell them that I'm going to help one of my best friends _kill_ someone little by little by destroying a fragmented soul. No, they would not understand that.

Mum and Dad think I'm going to be in Hogwarts on September 1st. I wish I knew where I'm going to be on that day.

x . x . x . x . x

The End.


End file.
